


Time and Time Again

by Familiae



Series: Crimes Against Decency [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, M/M, Rituals, Sexual Slavery, Supernatural Elements, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:37:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 12,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Familiae/pseuds/Familiae
Series: Crimes Against Decency [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538989





	1. Memories

Her eyes were large, giving her an almost permanent look of a deer caught in headlights, and the color was a startling bright green. Her dark hair fell in ringlets over her shoulders and down her back, down to her waist. Her lashes were thick and dark, and her cheekbones were high. Her lips were thick and plump—almost pouty. Her nose was a button—her skin, mocha. She was a tall lithe thing—almost as tall as Izaac himself. She was dressed in lavish dresses of silk, draped over her body in purple and gold. Her throat, ears, fingers, and wrist had all manners of bangles and chains. When she took a step forward, Izaac noticed there was even some around her ankles, and she was barefoot.

At the sight of her a smile came, unbidden, to Izaac’s lips. He knew, in that way beyond any explanation, but with an unshakable sureness, that he’d find her here. And here she stood before him—a beauty like no other, all round hips and tantalizing curves. The smile she spared him was coy—the look send a flush of heat to nestle in Izaac’s belly.

“I want her,” he told the plump woman by his side.

That was not even close to the truth, however—he wanted her, wanted her warm skin, her plump lips, and her strong arms, but he needed her as much as he wanted her. He needed to hear her voice—to hear those words from her lips.

“I want the whole night with her—I will pay,” and before the woman could protest, his fingers wrapped around her pale wrist, and he set down a pouch of coins on the palm. The woman looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so. As soon as Izaac released the wrist, she hid the pouch within the folds of her dress, giving Izaac a quick nod.

She fired off directions in a language that escaped Izaac—most odd—and the girl nodded. She was young—Izaac realized. Maybe fifteen at most, probably younger. But she did not hesitate as she led Izaac deeper within the building—past incense-filled parlors and rooms, until the light of the candles faded, and the air grew colder.

She led him to the back room—large and heavily furnished with plush sheets and numerous pillows upon the bed. The lack of lighting made it difficult to discern the details. The carpet was fine, woven with tapestries of what could be rich reds, browns, or bronze. The bed was similar, although the pattering was different. There were no windows in the room, and it was not what Izaac would call large, but it would do.

As she lighted the candles, Izaac began undressing himself, taking a step closer towards the dresser to allow the clothes to drop on the chair.

Before he could go farther than a few buttons, however, she was there, her hand over his, her large eyes silently reproaching.

“I will do it,” her accent was heavy, which didn’t altogether surprise him. He wondered how much coin they would pay for a beauty such as her. She could have been a slave, perhaps. Or something more...

Either way, there was no way of knowing. Quieting his buzzing thoughts, Izaac set a hand against her cheek, relishing on the feel of the soft warm skin.

“May I have your name?”

She seemed to hesitate, casting her eyes about herself. Inexperienced then, but that mattered little to Izaac. She was here, with him, sharing a room, and soon, a bed—but first he required something out of her. He needed to confirm, with words, that this was the person he sought.

“Aysi,” she kept her voice low, her hands on his chest, “many call me Ay.”

Ay. Izaac couldn’t say it suited her, but at the very least, it had a pleasant ring to it. He smoothed the hair back from her face, and smiled at the thought—she could be lying to him, but he could do nothing about that. She had every reason to mistrust him.

“Do you remember me?”

She looked up at him curiously, smiling. “Sir?” her voice sounded full of doubt, but it was clear she was eager to please. “Maybe I do,” she finally relented after a few long moments of studying Izaac’s face, “I thought I recognized that golden hair from somewhere...”

She was lying. She did not remember a wit. She possibly couldn’t—Izaac was not even talking about her, he was referring to her past life—the mischievous, smiling Egyptian that had invited him to his home with cryptic words.

“You don’t,” he stroked her hair, a hand trailing down her back, fingers skimming the fabric of her clothes, “try harder. We saw each other often,” he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, “you held me in your arms, with vipers and cobras about us. You were not as soft-spoken then, and some would say, entirely too bold,” on a whim, he found himself blurting, “you said you liked my voice.”

She looked doubtful, but she did not dismiss him immediately. Instead she frowned, tilting her head to the side as she thought. She thought long and hard to, and while she thought, Izaac allowed himself to inspect her body further—she had shapely breast, the fabric of the dress and the lighting made it so that he could see as much as feel her perky nipples pressing against his chest, and her smooth stomach, the swell of her hips. 

He bit his lip—he wanted her. 

“Lamb?” her voice came hesitant, and the sound of it seemed to surprise her. A hand rose to cover her mouth, and her large eyes looked even larger still.

Izaac smiled, delighted. Every part of him buzzed with the joy of it, “That’s right,” he whispered, pressing his hands against her hips, “I’m your lamb. I came back to you as you bid,” before she could react, he pressed his lips against the base of her neck, “I won’t leave you,” he promised.

She chuckled, holding the back of his head to her. When she spoke, her voice was husky, “I knew you’d come,” her tone was fervent, and she grinded her hips against Izaac in a way that made prickles of heat start at his groin, “it’s been too long. I expect a good show.”

He was more than eager to give it to her, so he responded with eagerness, as did she.


	2. Bleating Lambs

The sun was at its zenith—fizzling down and causing sweaty streaks to run down from pores. Those with any sense kept to the open; they had wandered outside, preferring to sit where there was enough ventilation to breathe, struggling to keep themselves tucked in the shade when there was none to be found. Others had wandered into the courtyard, choosing to rest under the shade of the trees.

A young man stood detached from the main attraction, observing the smoldering people through narrowed eyes. His lips downturned into a scowl, and a sigh slipped briefly from his lips. With a last sneer at the sight of the young woman asking for a fan, a hand tugging at her linen gown, he left, disgusted. 

He padded silently on bare feet across the stone floors, his gaze mostly turned downwards, his thoughts directed inwards. He was not a creature of consistency; he was adaptable, energetic, he thrived on the constant weaving of time and its sudden turns. These last few weeks had passed with a monotonous drumming that sent unease through his spine. He itched for action; hungered for something new. Patience had its benefits, this he knew, this he told himself every passing minute, but there was a time when enough was enough. With the way he could not cease to pace, how everything seemed to cause him an unreasonable spark of hate to ignite; he could tell the time was soon approaching. Something would soon happen or he would make it happen.

_Ah, but he awaits for you to make a single wrong move..._

Somehow the words had sent a chord of trepidation to vibrate through his being barely a month before, but now the young man couldn’t be bothered by it. Yes, he should be careful, cautious even, but that did not mean he would be lulled into inaction. He needed somewhere to allow himself to vent; somehow to release all the pent up stress. He had thought, maybe in ignorance, maybe in forgetfulness, that he could have perhaps entertained himself with idle human toys. There for his pickings whenever he liked; but there was no challenge to it. The novelty for defenseless toys had long ago run thin, if not expired altogether. He did not take joy to strike fear on the fearful; it was a comforting thought and nothing more. It was not his calling at the moment. No, right at this precise second he needed something that would provide a challenge.

He shouldered past a slave, barely sparing the poor fool a glance as he stumbled over the casket of water he had so carefully balanced on wiry arms, did not even deign looking back as he heard the cry of dismay. Let the fool whimper; he would have him later. No, instead he wandered outside; almost unfeeling of the blistering sun on his skin.

What had called to him then he wouldn’t have been able to say. Often he had such feelings that struck him suddenly; the need to wander outside, commonplace. He acted on instinct because instinct was what he trusted; the little glimpses of something more to come always a comfort, no matter how unpredictable.

So when he caught the sound of sandals scraping against the ground he was barely surprised. That instinct had whispered at his ear that something of the like would happen. So he merely looked up in the direction of the sound and waited.

The stranger that shuffled in the horizon was covered in linen from head to toe. The fabric was draped awkwardly over his shoulders, and even from that distance, the young man could see how uncomfortable the stranger was. There was no jewelry on him, perhaps a peasant? Nothing could be seen of his face except a small slit for two eyes, greasy hair matted with sweat and hanging low over his eyes, and the flash of unusually pale skin.

When he approached a smile tugged at the stranger’s lips. His eyes openly roamed the younger man’s form before his eyes settled on his face.

The stranger wasn’t the first to speak, however. “You look lost, little lamb,” the younger man hummed.

“Am I?” the words were soft, subdued, in a heavy lilting accent that made the words too sudden to the younger man’s ears despite their tone, “I was hoping that maybe in that case a kind stranger would lend a helping hand...”

Curiously, the young man cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed, studying the stranger carefully. He remained silent, only half-aware that inside a servant shuffled nervously about before she darted away from the door, that the stranger seemed to be almost expecting this...

“Maybe you’ve come to the right place,” he spoke once his furtive inspection was done, black eyes fixing on the stranger’s face, “maybe not. Guess y’can just wait and see.”

The stranger considered the words carefully before nodding once, the slight smirk still hovering over his lips. “And what role will you be playing in that?”

“Maybe I just want to see the little lamb bleat.”

“Surely words can only satisfy so much curiosity.”

“Surely words are oftentimes enough.”

“But not always to be trusted.”

The young man hesitated then, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, his fingers twitched, played against an invisible surface, his eyes fixed on the stranger. He realized that he liked to hear the odd garble of words leap from the other man’s vocal chords in a language that was clearly foreign to his tongue. It was intriguing, perhaps even intriguing enough but even then...

“And what would a lamb be doing with the jackals, and hawks, and oxen of this land?”

“Something to be discussed over bread and beer, perhaps?”

“I’d rather lamb,” the young man replied, flashing teeth in a smirk. Whatever retort the stranger could have conjured was swallowed and forgotten as the younger man stepped inside the house, however, standing outside from the opening to allow the stranger to slip in.

There was a slight hesitation in the stranger’s step. He seemed to be gathering his wits and breath before he stepped into stone walls, his gaze briefly roaming the interior of the small courtyard he was presented with before his gaze searched for the younger man.

“Sandals,” was the only word he was offered. The stranger grunted, perhaps half in surprise, half in acknowledgement, and hastily proceeded to remove the shoes with sweaty fingers, letting them drop by the side of the door, giving the younger man a small nod of apology. The correction was accepted readily enough, and the younger man’s eyes flicked back to the stranger, gesturing for the man to follow.

Each kept their silence as they walked—the young man’s strides fluid and confident, while the stranger struggled under the weight of the heat. Never once did he voice his discomfort, but it was apparent in every footstep. His feet dragged instead of padding silently along, his breath huffed in his lungs just the slightest bit when the younger man’s footsteps grew hurried, and he continued to stubbornly wipe his brow of the stray droplets of sweat.

He did not say a word when the younger man stopped a slave to vaguely explain the urgency for food to be brought; nor did he slow in his pace when the younger man dismissed another guest with a condescending comment. Either he did not listen, or his mind was occupied in other things—his eyes kept darting left and right, drinking in every detail despite the fact that he barely moved his head.

“Food is being prepared. The courtyard is crowded; this time of day draws most of the crows to the trees. If you’d excuse the heat, I’d rather we wait and dine inside.”

The stranger looked up from his inspection, a hand half-raised to wipe more sweat from his forehead. His eyes narrowed before he nodded slowly. “May I know the name of my gracious host at the very least?”

“Khay,” and, almost as an afterthought, Khay added: “May I have my guests’ name as well?”

“Izaac,” the older man said with the hint of a grin.

A flash of recognition passed through Khay’s eyes, a smirk tugged at his lips. The twitching fingers seemed to settle then flutter briefly as if to grasp something, a throb in his skull almost made Khray grimace. The words that he spoke were born out of a mixture of feelings and the sensation of blood pulsing, throbbing that both puzzled and excited him.

“How curious. That almost sounds... familiar.”


	3. Not a Horse

Giggles floated up, rising and falling in pitch with the sway of his steps. The child shifted, trying to balance out his weight, before the sweat on his hands made him slip. In a last desperate attempt, he threw out his arms, wrapping his fingers on the first thing he managed to clutch, and gave it a yank—

“Ow!”

Again the giggles. The child responded by gripping closer to the skull—his little fist tangled deeply in the hairs of the man’s head.

“Izaac, I’m a cobra, not a horse.”

“You said you’d play with me.”

“Yes. Play, not torture. We’ll leave those types of games when you’re older.”

There was a pause, the hold on the Apep’s hairs loosened and he shifted to wrap his arms awkwardly around Apep’s skull, letting his chin rest against the top of his head. Silence stretched out for a few breaths, and Apep resumed walking, trying to keep a steady pace that did not send the child tumbling from his shoulders.

“How much older?”

“Older,” Apep said, turning shifting Izaac over his shoulders to keep him from slipping down.

“Like parent-old?”

“A bit younger.”

“When?” the word was stretched out in a small whine.

“You’ll know when you’re older.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

A smile stretched Apep’s lips, if Izaac noticed or not, he gave no sign of it. “I believe that is the point, lamb.”

“You don’t make sense,” the child stubbornly insisted.

“It’ll make sense when you’re older.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Izaac desisted from any more comments, thumping the back of his foot against Apep’s breastbone when he caught the man’s grin.


	4. Stranger Danger

It was the hammering on the door that woke him, but when he opened his eyes, Spencer was already inside the room staring wide-eyed at them.

And frankly, he had good reason to.

Izaac was lying on his side, completely naked save the sheet tangled around his legs and part of his torso. Behind him, Apep’s warm breath tickled his neck, and his strong arms were wrapped around Izaac, spooning him.

Izaac shifted lightly on the bed, only to feel Apep’s arms tighten around him—so he was awake too.

“Where are you going?” his voice was sleep-fogged and his words slurred, but Izaac couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice.

“Spence’s at the door,” he said back, his own voice hoarse.

“Fuck him,” Apep mumbled against his skin, “no wait—fuck me.”

Despite himself, Izaac chuckled, but avoided answering—baiting Apep would only result in a senseless chatter that would lead them nowhere.

“What do you want?” the question was directed at Spencer—who still looked shocked. One of his hands rested at the door’s handle, his eyes were wide, his hair bed-tossed. He still wore his pajamas; Izaac noted—long loose pants and an equally large and beaten shirt.

“W-We’ll be late for s-school,” the words burst out, and just as soon as he finished speaking, he fell silent, eyes fixed on Apep.

“You’re not leaving me,” Apep hummed, pressing his lips against Izaac’s throat.

“You always make me late,” Izaac muttered back

“I’ll make it up to you,” and with those words, he pressed suggestively against Izaac—rubbing his still-soft dick against Izaac’s bum.

“You’ll have to do more than that to convince me,” he shot back with a smile, struggling to stand from the bed. 

His efforts were stopped by Apep, who wrapped his arms tightly around his midsection and dragged him back to the bed again. Struggling to keep his balance, Izaac kicked out the sheet from under him, but it was all for naught. Being careful not to harm him, Apep pinned Izaac under him, meeting Izaac’s green eyes with his own bright green ones.

“I might just have an idea for that,” he said with a wicked grin.

“Oh?” Izaac prompted, as Apep lowers his head to Izaac’s lips, pressing a light kiss on them, and trailing lower, licking and nibbling the skin of his throat, his collarbones, nipples, ribs, and stomach.

By then Spencer had stumbled back from the room his eyes wide.

Utterly ignoring him, Apep wrapped his fingers around Izaac’s length, trailing and pumping his hand around Izaac until blood started flowing into the member.

Spencer stayed just long enough for Apep to give a single long lick around the hardened length. Izaac closed his eyes and moaned—

And when he opened them again, Spencer had disappeared from the door, but he thought he could hear the clutter of footsteps as he stumbled downstairs and away from Izaac and the stranger in his room.


	5. Glimmer

It was a flash of something out of the corner of his eye that caught his attention. At first, Izaac had paid it no mind, turning his head away from it to catch the last string of words coming from Dorian’s lips, but as the voice faded into companionable silence, another sound arose. Faint, a whisper, with the rising of a gentle wind and he almost thought he had imagined it...

But when his eyes flicked to his threadbare sneakers he saw black scales curling over his feet before disappearing into the tall grass. It was instinct more than anything that propelled him forward. He stilled Dorian’s concerned protest with a few gentle words and a thin excuse for his sudden desire to depart, before he turned away from his friend.

His movements were much too quick and betrayed Izaac’s growing excitement, but he did not care. He hurried his steps, twisting and twining around to avoid colliding into other students, before he stumbled into the abandoned part of the school—nothing more than a cluster of dirty buildings that served to store all the unused school desks and chalkboards (replaced just a few years back with whiteboards and markers). Why they were simply not thrown out was beyond Izaac’s knowledge, but he did not linger on the thought for long.

He turned a corner and walked around the buildings, being careful not to trip on the cracked pavement or the discarded debris of twisted metal that were once desks, and aimed for a tiny space between two of the buildings. Overgrown grass sprouted from the slabs of pavement then, and a tree’s roots upset the terrain even further. The tree itself was a huge thing with a thick trunk whose topmost branches brushed against the highest windows of the neighboring buildings.

Izaac slowed his pace, picking his way carefully amongst the twisting roots, eyes wide and searching. Disappointment started clouding his thoughts as he grew closer and nothing revealed itself. He stopped dead in his tracks altogether once he was close enough to confirm his fears—nothing was there.

Bitter disappointment was a difficult thing to swallow down, but somehow Izaac managed, turning his eyes away from the shadows, mentally berating himself for seeing things that weren’t there—

“You’re very impatient, lamb.”

Warm arms wrapped around his waist to pull him closer until Izaac felt breath tickle the back of his neck. An involuntary smile appeared on his lips, and he leaned into Apep, his previous emotions discarded, replaced by a lazy contentment. 

“I never know with you.”

Apep’s responding chuckle made Izaac smile in turn. He placed a kiss on the base of Izaac’s throat, before drawing back, allowing Izaac enough room to turn. Eagerly, Izaac leaned forward, and Apep seemed to respond with the same enthusiasm, only parting their lips when they both became short of breath.

“Will you stay?” the words were quiet, hopeful, said after a length of time of merely enjoying the feel of Apep’s arms around him.

“I’ll wait for you after school,” he mumbled, “I came to tell you that.”

Izaac nodded, taking a step back from Apep to offer him a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”


	6. Schooled

The letters of the papers before his eyes started to dance and blur. Izaac blinked in a fruitless attempt to clear his vision, but it only helped in making spots of color appear on the sheets. With a sigh, he pushed away from the desk, leaning back on the chair, and tilting his head back, eyes closed. _One, two, three, four..._

Finals week. That was always the worst. He did not tend to have a problem in classes, in fact, he was sure he’d pass them with flying colors, but there was a different kind of stress to the finals. Izaac had never found the need to dedicate ample amount of effort to classes—usually a review sufficed. However, to review a whole book required time, and time was not a resource that was always available when one needed it most. It wasn’t just the tests themselves—the professors seemed to be thrown into a fit, some just realizing their time had run out, and making up projects and essays to hand in last minute before the time expired.

Between one thing and the other, Izaac was exhausted.

_Five, six, seven, eight... _

One of the few places where he could find peace, was in Apep’s office. Giving Izaac the key to it had been one of the first things Apep had done, in fact, with an open invitation that, if Izaac were to require a quiet place to study, or just wanted to nap, he was more than welcome to come in. 

_Nine, ten, eleven, twelve..._

Izaac had been curious at first—wondering what type of secrets his lover could hide in his workplace, but there was nothing of interest. Little notes and reminders were the most Izaac could find with any real value, and most didn’t make sense. They were scrawled in an odd letter that looked ridiculously akin to the Greek alphabet. He had thought he had found something uniquely interesting, but it became clear, shortly after his finding, that Apep merely had a thing for ancient languages. Odd, sure, but Izaac couldn’t see how that would prove anything regarding Apep’s past...

Of course, the biggest piece of the mystery was standing right before his eyes: if he were to turn around the little plaque sitting on the desk, he’d find, ingrained in it: Professor Apep Yudovich.

_Yudovich._

_Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen..._

He had known for a while, before he even enrolled in university classes, that Apep and himself shared a last name. Afterwards, Apep had made no attempt in hiding the fact that, somehow, they were married. When they revelation had happened, Izaac hadn’t been surprised in the slightest. He had expected it; hoped for it, in fact, to the point where it simply didn’t cause any surprise, just a nervous wave of pleasure that his desires and thoughts were confirmed to his favor.

Still, he was so far from having all the answers. Apep never really tried hiding anything from him, but he made no attempt to explain either. Izaac was left alone with his puzzle, and as much as he appreciated, he had the nagging suspicion nothing would really make sense until he saw it with his own eyes. Not just Apep telling him—he needed to see it.

_Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty..._

He needed to study too.

Izaac stretched, hearing his back give a satisfactory _pop_ when he did so. With a groan and a half-yawn, he leaned forward, eyes searching for the sheet of paper, trying to remember where exactly he had left off. A few blinks and some shifting on the seat later, he found it.

Then the door was pushed open.

He looked up, a hand holding the right corner of the sheet of paper to pass the page, the other resting on the desk’s paper covered surface. He was unsurprised to catch the crooked smile and the bright mischievous gaze.

“Lamb,” there was a hint of surprise to Apep’s tone, “you’re away from your sheep pen.”

“I thought you said I could make myself at home.”

“Of course you can,” Apep turned around, briefly stopping his words so he could close the door, “but sheep don’t usually enjoy snake tanks.”

“This one does.”

Apep flashed him a grin, quickly closing the distance between Izaac and himself. When he stood before the desk, he leaned forward, briefly pressing his lips against Izaac’s in greeting. “Give the infrared spectroscopy chapter more emphasis.”

The suddenness of the subject made Izaac blink, but he still managed to answer: “Carreira showed you the test?”

“Kinda,” but before Izaac could inquire more and demand details, Apep’s face was a breath away from his own, and the kiss he offered was sweet and slow. The message was clear: don’t press for answers.

A frown appeared on Izaac’s face, but when Apep noticed, he merely smiled, and gave Izaac another quick peck on the lips. Apep watched Izaac carefully, before he walked away from the desk, briefly rummaging the small bookshelf he had in the office and picking up a single slim tome. He thumbed through the book briefly, and took it to the opposite corner, where a chair stood. Without so much as a glance back at Izaac, he threw himself at the chair, stretched and shifted until he was comfortable, and set to reading.

Accepting that, for tonight, he wouldn’t have any clarification on the subject, Izaac sighed and turned back to his business, trying to gather his thoughts before he delved into it once more.


	7. Spittle and Hiss

It was an accident. Too much emotion bubbled through and the surprise element was thrown in, making Apep act without thinking. It was too late to take it back, however, and as he watched on, the lab table’s acid proof’s top started steaming with a loud _hiss_. The main problem here was that, not only was Apep noticing, but Izaac as well. Previously distracted, Izaac had been too involved in _other matters_ to have even realized what Apep had done, but the sound of the acid degrading the table was more than enough to change that.

His bright green eyes were fixed on the table, watching with that characteristic fascination of his how the table darkened, and the acid began eating through it. He made no sign of moving from Apep’s arms, but there was no mistaking the expression that started creeping to his face.

He moved, suddenly, a hand reaching for the notebook that had been carelessly thrown aside, his other hand fiddling in the pockets of his lab coat to search for a pen. In his desperation, Apep surged forward once more, pressing his lips against Izaac’s. As expected, Izaac responded, suddenly returning to the same ferocious rhythm they’ve had before, but his hands kept searching for the pen and paper.

“I need to write this down, baglebun,” he hummed against Apep’s lips, grinning.

Apep was not so easily deterred. His hands moved to remove the safety glasses over Izaac’s eyes, and he leaned forward to give a sudden lick to one of his eyeballs. Izaac was hardly perturbed. He continued rummaging for the pen, the paper already at hand, and Apep found himself sighing against Izaac’s skin.

“Don’t even try pushing me away,” when Izaac did not reply, but merely smiled, Apep continued, “I could still have acid in my mouth. I could hurt you.”

Izaac stopped suddenly, turning to Apep with that same sly smile plastered across his features. “You wouldn’t,” he said simply.

Curious, Apep tilted his head to the side, “Oh?”

“You love me too much,” he hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against Apep’s so he could resume his notes.


	8. Hearings

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Apep was far from human—that as cheery and mischievous as he appeared, his mind could run with a thousand possibilities of which Izaac would never know or even suspect anything of. He was not as naïve to think that Apep did anything on a whim—even if it was in his nature to do so. Izaac was carefully picked as his mate—in a process that could have looked like seconds, but was surely more intricate than anything Izaac could ever fathom.

So when Apep looked to be fiercely annoyed, Izaac instinctively knew Apep would not lash out at him—even if he was somehow the cause. His anger was carefully concentrated at anything else _but_ Izaac. Whatever his reasons for picking Izaac as his husband, they were greater than whatever frustration he might feel. He valued Izaac; was attached to him and the children they had together. It was as simple as that.

In moments like this—when Apep’s temper simmered dangerously, and despite the fact that Izaac knew he’d be safe in Apep’s arms, it was difficult not to desire to writhe away.

It would not be a simple matter to excuse himself, however. Apep could be set off at a moment’s notice, and he might never wish to hurt Izaac intentionally, but that did not mean he could not. The instability of his powers worsened with strong emotions—and this was no exception. Making Apep’s attention focus on Izaac could potentially be fatal.

With little choice, he sat on Apep’s lap, his head resting on Apep’s shoulders, eyes half-closed, and trying not to let his thoughts get ahead of him. He was not afraid of Apep, but he was wary. Apep’s temper was not something to be toyed with.

Not that the visitors had apparently gotten the memo. 

Maybe they did not notice how Apep’s temper had risen—after all, the demon king was not known for being reactive when he was angry, or at least not to those with an untrained eye, but Izaac could tell. The way Apep’s eyes narrowed, and the way his muscles tensed under Izaac’s fingertips—ready to pounce at any moment.

Then, suddenly, he spoke:

“Set, escort my husband to our room,” his voice was as sweet as warmed honey, but he did not look at Izaac as he spoke, “I will be there shortly.”

Izaac did not move, debating the wisdom of those words. When he did not stand, Apep’s eyes flicked towards him, and he offered a small smile. Before Izaac could react, he shifted, changing their positions ever so slightly so he could press his lips against Izaac’s ear.

“I won’t be long, but I don’t want you hurt,” he whispered.

Izaac hesitated, torn between curiosity and his own mangled thoughts, but in the end he consented. He slid from Apep’s lap and unto his own feet, turning away from both the visitors and Apep without so much as a glance backwards, startling Set with the sudden movements.

As the doors closed behind them, Izaac glanced sideways at Set. 

“That was a mess.”

Set grunted, “Young ones—too young to have known my father. I’m afraid they’ll know to heed their elder’s warnings much too late.”

Izaac nodded. He was curious about what wrath Apep would concede, but knew better than to ask Set. He’d drag out the gory details from Apep later.


	9. Readiness

When Izaac awoke it was to a world of sticky wet crimson and the sensation of his lungs burning. He drew breath only for his chest to be racked with a wet choking cough that made mucus and blood rise to his throat and stain his lips. His eyes felt heavy, but he bore through it, squinting and screwing them shut again when he could not see. Carefully, he dragged a heavy limb to his face and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands in an attempt to clear them. Once he opened them again, he saw mostly darkness.

In the distance he could make out the soft light of candles, casting light over their perches. He made out faint inscriptions over the metal that made out their stand, but the letters blurred with the beating of his heart, turning the message to condensed useless letters.

He looked away then, turning his gaze down at himself. His skin was laid bare before him, smooth and unharmed under the blood that stuck to every portion of it. Where the blood had rubbed off in places, he saw twisting letters of an alphabet he scarcely recognized stamped on his skin with jet black ink. The letters themselves made shapes, creating a spiral over the center of his chest, and curling around his right arm until they reached the digits of his fingers, where they abruptly stopped to be replaced by a series of dots that seemed to follow the pattern of the bones underneath.

He sat atop a circle of arcane symbols, lined with a mix of chalk and ink. The chalk had been rubbed off by the blood in places, but the mysterious ink prevailed. The circle stretched nearly four meters to either side of him, and towards the edges of the circle, Izaac saw a variety of candles and organs. Figures that looked like animals turned inside out to leave their tongues and bones and veins and guts to glisten in the cast light. None of them looked to be humanoid.

“Is everything well?” Sett’s voice floated up from somewhere to Izasc’s left; calm and collected as always.

“I assume it worked then,” Izaac’s voice sounded hoarse to his ears; perhaps from the coughing.

“You assume correctly,” it was as he inclined his head that Izaac spotted him–tall and slender and covered in splatters of blood.

“My husband?” Izaac wanted to know more about the results of the ritual, but there were more pressing matters. Apep should be well enough, but it would not be like him to leave Izaac’s side in such a situation unless pressing matters presented themselves.

Sett nodded at something in the shadows, and a beast, huge and wide and deadly stirred. Izaac spotted the forked black tongue before he found the sharp green eyes. It would be impossible to judge Apep’s thoughts from his current guise, but Izaac had no doubt that he’d remain there.

“My king,” Sett interrupted, taking a step towards the circle, “My lord father would prefer to see you move before we judge your well-being.”

Izaac had to admit he liked the ring to the title. As he struggled to a stand he flashed Apep a look, trying to urge him forward.

Izaac felt sore and sluggish as he stood, but everything seemed to be in order. His body responded well, even with minor creaks and groans of complaint.

To test his body further, he walked towards the edge of the circle, wary of slipping on the slick surface. Once he neared Sett he saw that Sett had a simple black robe draped over one arm. His unsettling golden eyes studied Izaac carefully.

When Izaac stood before Sett, the common courtesies were given, and Sett set to work in robing Izaac, draping the clothes over his shoulders, the smooth fabric was cool to the touch.

Sett hastily stepped back once he finished tieing the sash around Izaac’s waist, and he soon knew why. Apep had slid forward, his breath tickling Izaac’s back, and his tongue tickling Izaac’s back.

Without giving it a second though, Izaac turned, placing his hand flat against the top of Apep’s snout, almost smiling.

“I think we’ll be ready now,” Izaac hummed, and he swore Apep grinned under his touch.


	10. What's Yours is Mine

“So this is why you insisted on renewing the marriage contract.”

It wasn’t a question, neither was it accusatory—it was merely Izaac, thinking out loud, trying to goad information from his husband. Apep was hardly alarmed. His eyes flicked up to meet Izaac’s a small smile quirked the corners of his lips upwards. Izaac’s gaze remained on him for a few breaths before he turned away, shaking his head.

“I thought you would find it an interesting side-effect.”

“What’s mine is yours...” a thoughtful murmur, eyes cast downwards.

“And what’s yours is mine,” Apep flashed another grin. Izaac shook his head again.

Izaac seemed to think again, standing still, eyes half closed. Apep remained, watching carefully, head tilted slightly to the side, eyes wide and curious. He didn’t say a word, merely observed Izaac’s little movements, the way his chest moved with his calm breathing, how his eyes moved ever so slightly across the room.

“You can ask, y’know.”

Apep’s words disturbed Izaac. He looked up, frowning. “I want to see if I can figure it out myself.”

The movement was sudden—one moment Apep was standing out of arm’s reach, Izaac blinked, and Apep was right there—face inches from his. The suddenness made Izaac recoil, but he recovered his wits, and halted his steps. A crooked grin colored his features.

“That’s what I thought,” Apep tittered, leaning forward to press his lips against Izaac’s.

The kiss was sweet and insisting, but Izaac pulled back. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Me? Never,” a chuckle, and Apep was there again, leaning forward.

Izaac’s words died on his tongue as Apep’s lips pressed against his own. He couldn’t help but smile at Apep’s stubbornness, yet still and once more, he broke the kiss, dodging once Apep tried to pull him back in.

“You tease me.”

As tough as it was for Izaac to admit, Apep, sitting naked on the gym mat, snakes curled nearby, legs crossed Indian style and that crooked grin hanging over his lips, was proving to be a great distraction. He wanted to focus, but whatever he tried, his thoughts inevitably lead to Apep.

Not that he could help thinking about him. It was after all, necessary for his task. Between moans and groans, Apep had dropped hints for Izaac, like a crumb trail. Mostly half-riddles and teasing words, but he was sure Apep wasn’t misleading him. They both knew Izaac loved experimenting, finding things out the hard way. It took no genius to figure out how excited the prospect made Apep, thus why he probably started giving Izaac little nudges.

Apep wanted Izaac to learn. That much was obvious.

But how the hell did one wield chaos? To Apep it was probably natural—like breathing. Oftentimes Apep did things on a whim, a sudden urge to make something go amiss. Izaac strongly doubted he could replicate that ease.

No, he’d have to focus and follow his little breadcrumbs all the way home.

_Picture it. Focus. Breathe it out._

_Make it linger in your exhales, let your body respond to it._

_Don’t force it. This is not something that can be rushed; it works sporadically, be patient._

He closed his eyes.

_That’s it. Feel that? Don’t waver, hold it._

There was the feeling of static across his skin; his hair standing on end, a feeling of unease at the pit of his stomach. He knew to trust Apep, so he continued on, picturing, feeling, willing it done—he needed something simple, something that always looked effortless.

“’Ey!”

Izaac tried not to be startled nor his concentration snap and, instead, slowly turned to face Apep, holding back a grin when he caught sight of Apep’s wicked grin.

The cobra that had been resting close by had nestled on Apep’s lap, wrapping its coils around Apep’s member.

A success.

Curious, trying to keep his focus, Izaac tilted his head to the side, grinning when he saw the cobra do the same. It was easy now—as easy as breathing. The cobra lifted its head and wrapped around Apep as he willed it.

He could do this.

“I’m sure the first thing most people do when they have their god husband’s powers is to wank said husband off,” Apep grinned.

“You’re welcome,” Izaac hummed, stepping forward towards Apep, intent in slinking into his husband’s arms.

“How does it work then?” Izaac looked up, cheek leaning against Apep’s bare chest, eyes wide and curious.

Apep craned his head forward, meeting Izaac’s eyes with a small smile. He seemed to be debating what to answer, remaining quiet and thoughtful for a few heartbeats before he finally settled with saying: “I really don’t know. How do ‘normal’ senses work?”

A half smile appeared on Izaac’s lips. He shifted on the bed, and quietly lifted himself up so his face lay more level with Apep’s. “You did mention you rarely got them as a child.”

“Mmm,” again that quiet, turning his eyes away from Izaac to contemplate what he should say. Izaac remained quiet, half-closing his eyes, allowing his lover to gather his thoughts. “They’re always there though, just not as... intense? It’s easier to tell things apart.”

“Then how did you know it was all in your head when you were younger?” the words were soft and gentle, allowing Apep an easy opening to avoid the question if it proved uncomfortable, but he merely smiled.

“I didn’t. I don’t think anyone really did. Over time I discovered no one else really saw things quite like I did, and I decided to take advantage of it. No one really did take the time to sit me down and explain that not everything I saw was... real.”

“But it _is_ real.”

“Is it? If I’m the only one that can see them, are they real?”

Izaac chuckled low in his throat, turning his green eyes to meet Apep’s, “Yet you can’t see me.”

“I wonder what that means,” Apep hummed in response, closing his eyes and squeezing Izaac closer.


	11. Sleepless Nights

He was blinking too much, his eyes wandering, needing to force himself into attention, squinting and rubbing his fist against his eyes when it proved to be useless. A careless yawn even managed to slip from his lips, and Apep could note little kinks and twitches when Izaac’s muscles started to grow stiff. Throughout it all, Izaac remained adamant, focused on the papers before him—or perhaps he didn’t even notice how tiredness started to plague him. It might as well had been background static.

Apep ignored the swirling walls and the dizzying lurch the floor gave beneath his feet, and stumbled those few precious steps towards Izaac’s desk, feeling his head reel in response to the movement. A cobra flicked its black tongue at his face and he was forced to gently push it away with two fingers. Something scuttled beneath his feet nearly stumbling him, the carpet writhed and rose like a thing alive.

“You’re tired, lamb,” Apep said once he stood before Izaac’s desk, offering him a crooked grin.

“I need to finish this.”

Apep nodded. When he did not speak again, Izaac’s green eyes flicked from his lover to his paperwork.

“Why don’t you come to bed with me?”

Izaac paused again, eyes flicking towards Apep’s. If he was annoyed with Apep’s stubbornness he did not show it, merely said softly, “I can’t—not now. Give me a minute, OK?”

“You’re about to keel over,” he tried again, drawing away from the desk and trying to stumble around it into Izaac’s arms.

This time Izaac looked up abruptly, his lovely green eyes startled, “Are you...?”

Apep managed a smirk, “Same old, same old. Come on, lamb. I miss your little bleats.”

Izaac stood, reaching out a steadying arm before Apep could fall, giving a little grunt when the taller man leaned his weight on him. Apep grinned against the flesh of Izaac’s throat, wrapping his arms tight around Izaac and learning his head on his shoulder.

“You should lie down,” there was no masking the worry on Izaac’s voice.

“Not without you.”

“I will—in a minute—go rest, baglebun.”

“You’re never in bed.”

“Apep,” the words were a sigh.

There was a hesitation, Apep’s grip tightened around Izaac, and he remained held in place for a few breaths before his grip finally loosened, and he took half a step back away from Izaac. “I know, lamb,” he hummed, offering a small smile. “Can I at least get a kiss?”

Izaac leaned forward, not hesitating until his lips brushed against Apep’s. The kiss was slow and sweet, and abruptly broken when Apep pulled back with a crooked grin. “Don’t overwork yourself, lamb, OK?”

He nodded, smiling to assure Apep. 

Apep turned away, stumbling drunkenly as he went. An arm was thrown out to catch his fall and he nearly upset the visitor’s chair. He flashed an apologetic grin in Izaac’s direction, before he righted himself, still stumbling until he reached the door. 

_Izaac will not come tonight_, was all he could think as his stomach pitched and roiled with the swirling walls.


	12. Bagels and Snakes

“What are you doing?”

No answer. A grin slowly spread across Apep’s features, but regardless of his change in expression he gave no signs of wanting to answer.

“Apep.”

A giggle, “You asked a direct question, Izaac.”

Izaac resisted the urge to shake his head, “It slipped.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

A pause. Izaac remained quiet, trying to detect what exactly the weight over his head and shoulders was.

“But really, what _are_ you doing?”

The child paused, leaning forward so he could catch the smallest glimpse of Izaac’s expression. He held his tongue once more however, those bright eyes of his inspecting the side of Izaac’s face with open curiosity and an amused glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m balancing bagles and snakes on your head,” he finally admitted at length.

“You’re _what?_”

Another giggle, “You keep asking direct questions. That’s no way to play.”

“_Baglebun_,” a little impatient warning.

“I wanted to see how deeply you were concentrated on work,” the child was forced to reply, a little pout coloring his lips after he spoke. “You’re always so focused and glowering like that, I thought I could maybe get away with twelve or thirteen bagles.”

“Twelve or thirteen...?”

“Yes, but I only have Sally and eight bagles on your head. Sally ate the ninth.”

Izaac resisted all urges to move his head and merely sighed, “Just _tell_ me next time.”

“But this is more fun, lamb,” the words were spoken between giggles.


	13. Hunger

Desperation and hunger made his movements clumsy. He had aimed to slash at his throat with the blade he had managed to borrow (read: steal) from within the drawers of Izaac’s desk. He must have looked panicked or agitated, because the man read his movement and dodged. The blade missed, sinking into the flesh of his shoulder.

Apep cursed. The man’s eyes widened, and he pulled back—the knife slipped easily from his flesh. It was a sharp instrument, and it did not take much effort to imagine Izaac whittling away at the blade whenever his hands skimmed against its surface. Apep wasn’t completely sure why the thing had been in Izaac’s desk—it was a beautiful knife, its blade made of smooth steel, and the pommel carved from dark wood, its design simple, yet elegant—but he could very well guess.

Before the man could recover from his shock, Apep stepped forward again, slashing at the man’s stomach. He gasped and stumbled a few steps back, and Apep went at him again. This time he tried multiple times—a slash against a leg, one against the muscular forearm, before the blade sunk into flesh again—the stomach this time.

Once inside, he twisted it, and dragged it out. The man grunted, tried to scream, but before he could, Apep stabbed down again.

“S-stop!” his voice came broken and scared.

But Apep was beyond reasoning—beyond hearing. Hunger turned him mindless, and he wanted nothing more than to bring down his prey. Why didn’t the man just die? Apep was too young and weak to restrain him—he had to be dead. Apep wanted to _eat_. The fact that he hadn’t been able to find a way to tell Izaac only made it worse. What if Izaac didn’t believe him? What if Izaac didn’t want him to?

_No, no, no_. Apep had to keep away from those thoughts. He had already decided he’d simply hide it from Izaac as best he could. That way, no one would be the wiser, and Izaac would never have a reason to be upset. Soon enough, in just a few years, he’d be strong enough to hunt. In just a few years he wouldn’t be trapped in a child’s body, and have to resort to mindlessly stabbing at his prey and hoping for the best. He had been planning this attack for a while, as soon as the hunger started to gnaw at him, he knew he must act. But Izaac couldn’t be home, no, no, Izaac had to be away. Damien had to be occupied, and he had to make sure Markus was asleep or distracted.

Blood flowed freely from the wounds in the man’s legs, arms, and stomach. He had given up reasoning—maybe he had seen the hunger in the child’s eyes and realized it was hopeless. Now, he tried to fight back. He dodged away from the knife, sprinted, and slammed a fist in the back of the child’s head. Apep stumbled, wobbled, but did not fall. When Apep turned around to face the man once more, his expression was furious.

Panicked, the man grabbed a flower pot from a small squat table, and tried flinging it at the child. With a grunt, Apep threw himself aside. The flower pot sailed over his head and smashed against the wall. Before he could recover, Apep was at him again. This time, the man turned around and tried to run.

Something hit him then, hard, and for a moment he thought the kid had punched him or tackled him down, but that wasn’t it. Another punch, and he realized the child had stabbed the knife into his lower back.

With the man’s movements slower, Apep reached down and sliced the knife towards the back of his knees. It scored, and the man stumbled and fell. He twitched, and tried to crawl dragging his useless leg behind him, but Apep knew he would not escape. This man was his dinner now.

Chunks of yellow fat and blood stained the carpet. The man’s eyes had been gouged out, and the elegant blade laid sunk into one of the gaping holes. The tongue had been sliced away, and the cheeks rendered to nothing but strings of crimson flesh. His throat had been torn open by the force of both teeth and hand, and his abdomen had been sliced and torn with the help of both as well.

Apep had pried at the ribs with all his might, but they simply were too hard for the little strength he possessed, so he had given to ripping at the flesh with his nails and fingers. The ribs were always one of his favorite parts—the flesh was tender there, and could almost be said to have a unique taste when compared to the rest of it. Here, between the bones, was where it tasted the best. It was a shame he could not pry them open and have a taste of the marrow.

The guts had been as scooped up, and shoved aside as best as he could manage. There was simply too much of them to be able to take proper care of them, but he tried. They laid, blood streaked, curling into each other, next to the corpse, forgotten. That was not something he took the habit of eating. Not if it could be helped, at least.

The kidneys were torn open to fling aside the kidney stones. The stomach was ripped away, taking part of the esophagus with it. Apep threw it aside without much consideration. Liver, pancreas, lungs, meat—all was at the very least nibbled on be sure of the taste. Whatever didn’t appeal to his taste buds was thrown aside in a pile atop the intestines. Whatever did, he dug his teeth into, tearing and nibbling at it until nothing remained. The corpse’s right arm was practically bone by the time Apep was done with it. He wanted to eat the heart while it still had some warmth, but decided against it. Not the right time, such a prize should be left for last.

As he considered what to try next, he lifted his fingers to his mouth—licking the blood and stickiness there. It was in that precise moment that the door opened behind him.

Apep stiffened where he sat, and quickly dropped his hands from his mouth. A thought occurred to him that he had been too distracted by his meal to hear any footsteps, and silently cursed himself for it. Stiff as a board, eyes wide, he turned his head to look over his shoulder—his mind running in circles to come up with a proper excuse for the grisly sight before him.

It was Izaac—Izaac with the calm eyes, and serious expression, wearing a grey suit and the tie Apep liked so much. The sight of Izaac brought a smile to his face, before the implications of his visit settled in and tore a hole into his stomach.

Electricity shot up his spine, and made him stumble over the body, crawling backwards, eyes fixed on Izaac, until his back bumped against the wall. Even then, he struggled to disappear into it, digging his feet into the carpet with enough force to drag little folds across the surface. His mind spun, and he became vaguely aware that a piece of porcelain from the broken flower pot had cut into the palm of his hand. The realization was something distant, however. As if it wasn’t happening to him.

It occurred to him that if he had brought his snakes with him, they would have alarmed him of the current danger, but it was far too late for regrets.

“Apep?” Izaac’s voice carried—deep and smooth, the same as always, and stupidly calm.

The sound of it made Apep’s eyes water, and he reached a hand to dash away at the tears. A thought occurred to him then, and he tried to wipe at his bloodied mouth with little result. The sleeve of the shirt and his hands were as bloodstained as the rest of him was.

_No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening._

But it was: Izaac was there, standing in front of him, as real as the taste of human flesh and blood in his mouth. Izaac, who should be away at a meeting, was here. The thought that it was probably to pleasantly surprise Apep with his early arrival did not help either.

“Apep?” Izaac’s voice now sounded deeply concerned. Gingerly, as if it wasn’t there, Izaac stepped over the body in his leather shoes, ignoring the bloodstained carpet, and the upturned furniture. He walked directly to Apep, frowning.

It was too much—the child panicked. He tried crawling back, and when that failed, he tried hiding his face behind his legs, screwing his eyes shut, curling into a little ball, and trembling all over. He tried to keep quiet, tried not to make a sound, as if just that would be enough to distract Izaac, to make him go away and forget all about the child. When he felt Izaac’s fingers brushing against him, he flinched away from the touch as if it burned. He tried to crawl away, but only managed to cut himself in the shards of porcelain.

Suddenly, Izaac’s arms were around him, dragging him away from the wall, and pressing him against his chest. His fingers roamed Apep’s hand, gently poking at the cuts, and frowning at them.

Apep flinched away, tugging at his arm frantically to free it from Izaac’s touch. Alarmed, Izaac released it—his expression read as confused and hurt.

“What’s wrong?”

The child trembled and shook his head, eyes full of tears. “Daddy, I—” but no words came out around the lump in his throat.

Izaac’s concern grew more apparent, he wiped at the child’s face, and Apep realized the suit was getting dirty. He trashed against Izaac’s grip once more, trying to slide away. When Izaac’s grip did not loosen, he managed to choke out a little: “Your clothes—”

“Hush,” he was calm once more, his eyes roaming the child’s form, his lips tightening with an emotion Apep couldn’t read, “stay still, you’re cutting yourself with whatever broke here.”

But Apep couldn’t, whatever reason he had was overtaken by fear—Izaac was here, and he had seen it. He was calm now, but surely that would not last? Once he reasoned it out, once he figured out what Apep had done—

“I’m sorry,” the words came hoarse.

Izaac’s eyes flicked towards him, the expression on his face unreadable, “Whatever for?” his voice appeared to be merely curious. When Apep did not speak, Izaac spoke up again, his tone gentle, “Don’t worry about the suit, my sweet. I can get another one.”

“B-But the room, and your tie, and the—” _body_. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. His eyes watered, and his throat seemed to close up on him.

Izaac frowned, without speaking, he leaned forward, his lips pressing against Apep’s. The familiar warmth, the smell, the taste, was almost enough to made Apep forget. He clutched at Izaac then, hungering for his touch, for his warm arms around him—anything, anything to make him forget. Maybe then Izaac would too.

When Izaac pulled away to catch his breath, he held Apep to him. His hand fell to Apep’s head, and he ran his fingers through the thick hair—stopping mid stroke, his breath catching at his throat. “You have a bump on your head,” he sounded incredulous.

Apep couldn’t bring himself to answer; he dug his head against Izaac’s shoulders, trying to hold back his tears. Izaac’s arms tightened around him in response, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

“A-aren’t you m-mad at me?”

“Of course not.”

“B-but I did it.”

Izaac craned his head to look over his shoulder then, at the disemboweled man with half his organs to his side, his body slashed at until it had bled from various places, his mouth gaping open, and a slim knife resting against one of his eyeball’s sockets. The child tried to flinch away once more, but Izaac’s hold did not loosen.

“I can see that,” he sounded thoughtful, “but why?”

_Why?_ Apep’s mind spun, and he tried to pull away from Izaac once more, but the hold would not loosen. Vile rose into his mouth, and panic made his movements rougher, more desperate. Izaac seemed to notice as well, because he released Apep, letting him stumble away.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, trying not to upchuck his meal. _Izaac, Izaac, Izaac._ Tears sprung to his eyes once more, and the snot dangled from his nose. He felt the world spin, and the only thing he could think of was that maybe, _maybe_ if he got rid of his stomach’s contents, Izaac would be content enough with that. But he had to move—he had to do it soon. His newfound sense of urgency allowed him to stumble to his feet, heaving. When he tried to walk away, Izaac’s arm were around him once more.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” his tone was surprisingly gentle, and he chanted the words until his voice worked into rubbing away at the panicked child, “you don’t have to answer. It’s alright.”

But, somehow, that was enough to make the child burst, “I was _hungry._ I was so _hungry_. And I ate, and I ate, but nothing made it _stop_. My stomach hurt, and I couldn’t move, I thought if I didn’t do anything I’d—_I’d_—” but his words broke off, and he collapsed against Izaac.

“Hush, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he hugged Apep tighter to him, stroking his head, fingers skimming lightly against the bump, “don’t worry—I understand.”

He smiled down at Apep then, and for a brief moment, hope bubbled forth, “You do?”

“Yes,” he wiped away the child’s tears and snot with the sleeve of the suit, “I should’ve noticed sooner.”

His stomach dropped to his knees, he felt his knees tremble, he tried to pull away.

“No, Apep, it’s alright. Look at me,” when Apep finally did, he continued, “it’s OK. I’m a little surprised, is all, but it’s nothing to worry about.” When Apep still did not speak, Izaac forced himself to continue, “I’ll have the chef give you raw meat from now on, is that OK?”

Wide eyed, Apep nodded.

“If it gets too bad just ask me or Damien and we’ll get you something better, OK?” he spoke gently, tugging at Apep towards him once more, “You’re too young and fragile to do these kinds of things by yourself. I don’t want you to get hurt, so promise me you won’t do it again?”

Wordlessly, he nodded, hurriedly, almost frantically.

“I’ll eat with you, mmk? I won’t have you eating alone.”

And with that, he kissed Apep, slow and sweet and lingering. When they pulled apart, Izaac’s eyes were bright, and his face was flushed. He dragged in a breath, and pulled the child to him again, his movements growing rougher, squeezing the child to him. Apep tried not to smile against his eager lips.


	14. Awakenings

The bones of his jaw, the throbbing of a vein under his flesh, the chords of muscles that held up his face, the gentle curve of the collarbone, wide shoulders, the muscles of arm, the trace-work of veins that followed both limbs, curling around the bones of the hands, smooth and unbroken with long fingers and perfectly clipped nails. The soundness of his chest, the firm ribs, the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed, the muscles of his abdomen, the swell of his hips, the smoothness of his legs and the strong muscles holding them just beneath the flesh. The round knees, the thick calves, the bump of his ankle, the round heel, the gently-curved foot, the toes tipped with even more of those perfectly-clipped nails.

He trailed his fingers along the contours of Izaac’s body, pressing his lips over the little crooks and swells, and the quivering muscles just underneath the flesh. In his sleep, Izaac groaned softly, turning his face away, pressing his nose against the pillows.

Apep smiled at that, his fingers skimming against Izaac’s hand, curling his fingers along Izaac’s palm. Instinctively, the fingers contracted, curling around the hand. Izaac shifted again in his sleep, but this time his eyelids fluttered and his even breathing was interrupted.

He blinked up sleepily at Apep, squinting in the half-light of the room. When he recognized the intruder, a small smile broke through his lips.

Apep went to press his lips against Izaac’s, and although, still groggy with sleep, Izaac responded, his hand going to Apep’s shoulders, the fingers pressing against the firm muscles underneath.

“I did not mean to wake you,” Apep hummed against the skin of Izaac’s cheek.

His response was in the form of a snort, “You never do.“

“Rest,” Apep said with another faint kiss, “you need it.”

“Stay,” the words were a warning—a suggested threat when Apep tried to move away and, with it, Izaac’s arms wrapped over Apep’s shoulders.

Apep responded with another kiss, wrapping his own arms around Izaac’s shoulder and sliding besides Izaac. The arrangement was so that with just his weight, he managed to have Izaac’s head resting on his shoulder, an arm pinned under him. Sliding the arm from place, Izaac sprawled into Apep’s chest, his warm breath tickling the skin.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told Izaac.

Tremors went though Izaac’s body. It took Apep a minute to identify it as mirth.

“So are you,” he mumbled against the skin, pressing a kiss to the rippling muscles underneath.”


	15. Growing Pains

A wet _crunch_ followed by the sound of liquid dripping to the ground. The sound of meat tearing, and a shuttering moaned gasp, followed by a gurgle and a moan of pain—then a spray of it. Izaac felt something tickle his face and lips as blood showered down on him. He closed his eyes in the darkness, turning his face away from the spray, but did not dare move. The floor was slick with viscera and blood—his back rubbed against something stiff and cold.

Heavy breaths came from somewhere in front of him, and then, in a sheepish, almost embarrassed tone he heard his lover’s deepening voice:

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Izaac answered at length, making sure all four limbs were intact before answering, “feeling better?”

There was the sound of a snapping bone, followed by a soft, “No.”

Izaac paused to consider, pushing himself up to sit straighter. “Still hungry?”

Apep did not immediately answer. He tore a ligament, and seemed to chew on the muscles there before dropping his food. He moved then, half-crawling, half-dragging himself towards Izaac. His bloodied fingers skimmed the inside of Izaac’s thigh. Wordlessly, Izaac spread his legs, allowing Apep to nestle against his stomach.

“I want you,” he groaned against Izaac’s belly.

Izaac did not reply, he reached down to touch Apep. The hair of his head was matted with drying blood, and when his fingers trailed over his lips and chin, they came away warm and sticky with blood.

“Does it still burn?”

Apep squirmed under his touch then, “I want _you_.”

In truth, Izaac was sore from Apep’s wants. He took two bites of whatever unfortunate twink he managed to grasp, and turned to Izaac. Between the thrusts and the bite marks, Izaac feared he would hardly be able to move the next morning. Apep’s newly found appetites were taking a turn for the worse. No matter how much he ate and how much he fucked he always wanted _more_.

It was clear he was no longer a child. His body was stronger now, more demanding, and the demon blood was starting to show itself full force. Izaac knew to expect it’d be tough, but mentally preparing and actually experiencing it where two things entirely.

He had almost been tempted to call Markus then. The whore was trained to take and handle much more than Izaac. If anyone had any hopes of keeping up with Apep at this precise moment, it’d be him.

But Izaac doubted Apep would accept Markus as a fitting replacement. He had made it quite clear from the start that he wanted _Izaac_.

Without a word, Apep snatched at Izaac’s hand, fingers curling around his wrist. Gently, he pulled at the limb until Izaac’s fingers rested over his erect member. There was no questioning his intentions.

“I’m still human, baglebun,” Izaac whispered at his ear.

Apep took a single deep breath, his fingers loosened from around Izaac’s wrist.

“I...”

He swallowed.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Izaac assured him, stroking Apep’s hair with his free hand, “but I don’t think I can keep up with you.”

He nodded, but before he could crawl away, Izaac reached down, his fingers wrapping around Apep’s hardened member.

“Be still,” he warned Apep, his hand skimming the skin. Apep groaned in response.


	16. Past

“…and you were so cute and tiny, with little red cheeks, and just looking at me with those big green fucking eyes of yours and I wanted to lift you up and eat you. Cute baby Izaac. I’m kinda sad you don’t have the kind of mom to show those baby pictures of you naked in a tub.”

Izaac smiled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. His attention to Apep’s words were only half there, but he could understand enough to gather the general sentiment. Trying to realign his face so as to not betray any signs of his thoughts, he lifted his head, looking away from the orgy of papers that rested on his desk and instead enjoying the sight of a grinning Apep.

He stood by the window, leaning directly to the wall next to it, evading the bright patch of sunlight that stretched across the floor. His grin grew even larger when he felt Izaac’s eyes on him, and straightened up, eyes fixed on Izaac’s face.

“Careful, someone might think you’re a pedophile—oh _wait_.”

The grin stretched even larger, Apep peeled himself away from the wall and practically skipped to stand before Izaac’s desk. “Oh _no_. _I_ wasn’t the one that tore a poor innocent child from its mother’s breast—kidnapping it and forcing it into a marriage at a young tender age where normal children still dream of being astronauts or superheroes. Then the child was refused its freedom and caged all alone in a dreary mansion in the woods.”

“I recall that child being quite willing and not quite a child.”

“Is there any difference?” the grin hovered closer now, stretched out on the desk and pining papers under his stomach—the face mere inches from Izaac’s.

“Touché,” hands were held up in mock surrender. 

“Thought so.”

His voice was deep and musical—and it filled every cell within Apep with utter bliss, though the language was not one Apep had ever heard.

They both lay on the bed, naked save the sheet that tangled betwixt their legs. The windows were open, so that the night’s air would permeate the room along with Izaac’s song. 

Izaac sat up on the bed, Apep’s head on his thigh. Izaac’s hand stroked Apep’s head and back as he sung. Apep sunk into the motion and sound, eyes half-closing.

“One day you’ll tell me what these songs mean,” Apep hummed, pressing himself closer to Izaac.

Izaac did not pause in his song, but he tilted his head to the side, his green eyes, amused. It seemed like he was grinning—a sly thing.

Apep couldn’t help but flash a smile of his own.

“You remember where we used to stay?” the words were soft and low, arms reaching to wrap around Izaac’s shoulders, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Mhm.”

“I kinda miss it.”

“The smell, the rats or the rain filtering through the walls?”

“There weren’t any _rats_.”

Izaac attempted to bite back a smile and failed—the corners of his mouth twitching, amused. He shifted on his seat, pushing it back just enough to allow Apep enough room to slide on to his lap. Apep wasted no time in capturing his chance, untangling his arms from around Izaac’s throat to straddle the mob boss, grinning like a cat when he caught a glimpse of Izaac’s eyes.

“I used to wonder about that—the place was fit for a haunt, but why weren’t there any rats?”

Apep’s eyes glimmered with mischief, his grin grew crooked, “The cobras _did_ get hungry,” he hummed.


End file.
